


Chained, Collared, Cared For

by blueelvewithwings



Category: DC's Legends of Tomorrow (TV)
Genre: Asshole Romans, Cages, Chains, Collars, Cuddling & Snuggling, Disability, Fights, Found Family, Friendship, Gladiators, Grief/Mourning, Healing, M/M, Mick Fights A Lion, Mick Slowly Finds Himself Again, Multi, Muteness, Nightmares, Permanent Injury, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Ray Palmer Is A Good Friend, Rescue Missions, Slavery, Touch Avoidant, Touch-Starved, Violence, legends family feels
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-30
Updated: 2020-06-30
Packaged: 2021-03-04 18:15:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,168
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25000753
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blueelvewithwings/pseuds/blueelvewithwings
Summary: He could hear the sound of a gate opening behind him and swiveled around, sword at the ready. His throat felt dry all of a sudden as he saw the lion prowl into the arena, and his heart sped up. A few steps into the arena, the lion zeroed in on Mick and stopped, turning to face Mick. And Mick felt exactly like what he was: A sitting duck, prey, a piece of meat just waiting for the predator to come and get him.There was no chance he would be getting out of this.The lion took a step back, and stood still for a moment. Mick didn’t move.For a moment, the world stood still, and all that Mick could hear was the wild heartbeat in his ears.And then, the lion charged.On a failed Legends mission, Mick is left behind in Ancient Rome, having to muddle his way through life as a slave until the others can come to rescue him. Will they find him in time?
Relationships: Mick Rory/Earth-X Leonard "Leo" Snart/Ray Terrill, Ray Palmer & Mick Rory, Sara Lance & Mick Rory
Comments: 5
Kudos: 11





	Chained, Collared, Cared For

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Fancy_Dragonqueen](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fancy_Dragonqueen/gifts).



> //PSA: This is not a historically accurate AU by any means, and I did not intend it to be.
> 
> For Selena, who prodded me and all my slave!Mick needs until I just went for it and wrote this.

Mick tilted his head, trying to alleviate some of the pressure on his chafed neck, but only managing to make it worse. The chains on his collar that tied him to the bars of his cage clanked, and he could hear a guard grunting a little distance down the hallway. Immediately, he stilled again, knowing that he would only be whipped or worse if he would dare to make much more of a sound.

He was standing in a cage, an iron collar around his neck and two short chains fastened to it that were locked to the bars that made up the ceiling of the cage, leaving him unable to move around or even sit down. He had his hands folded on his back. They weren’t chained, but covering _the goods_ would only earn him extra punishment. He didn’t understand why people liked to leer at his crotch, but he was beyond caring at this point.

The door at the end of the hallway opened, and he could hear some chains rattle as some of the slaves in the cages along the walls turned to try and see who had entered the space. Quickly though, they settled again, since no one liked to draw the wrath of the guards, who were not known to be very lenient, but instead were very trigger-happy when it came to chastising the merchandise.

Because really, that was what they were… just merchandise.

Mick stood up a bit straighter, and emptied his face of any emotion as he stared ahead. Whoever was coming to look at him, they usually didn’t appreciate if the slaves met their gaze, or even acted like they were living beings with a will of their own at all.

Some of the oil that they had all been rubbed with was trickling down his back, and Mick ignored it. Muscular, shiny bodies seemed to be what people wanted to see, so that’s what they got.

The group of men strolled down the hall, stopping at every cage to examine the slave within. Mick could hear them talking, and he knew what they were speaking about even without hearing the words they uttered. They were talking about who to match together, which slave would be given which weapon, and who should fight against who, and who would most likely come out alive. All the slaves feared days like this, when pompous Romans in their showy togas would come and talk about them as if they were animals, and decide about their fate as if it was nothing. At the end of the day, half of them would be dead… for nothing more than the enjoyment and blood lust of the people in the arena

Once they reached Mick, he made sure not to blink, or even acknowledge their presence at all. Mick was not the smartest person, but he’d learned to adapt pretty quickly to his life. In domestic slaves, people wanted the submissive, bowing type that always had a little smile for their Master and made them feel like they were the most important person in the Imperium. Here, in the arena, they wanted the stoic, silent type that looked like they could choke one of the senators one-handedly. Given the chance, Mick could probably even do so.

“What’s with this one? He’s been here for a while”, he heard one of the men comment. It might be someone who came here more often to bid on the gladiators, Mick didn’t know. He never cared much for the people coming to leer at him.

Another of them chuckled and reached into the cage, letting a hand run over the oiled skin of Mick’s thigh. Mick stared ahead and forced himself to not react.

“He’s pretty. Nice and muscled and strong. I saw him last week… he’s fast. Might be good for a challenge.”

A third man of the group chuckled at that, and looked Mick up and down.

“A challenge, you say… so how much would you be willing to give to see this one go up against a lion?”

All of them laughed, and after a bit more banter and settling on a price, they moved on to peer into the cage next to Mick.

Mick closed his eyes, trying and failing to think about what he’d just heard.

A fight against a lion.

He was as good as dead.

Once the group of men had left again, Mick leaned against the back of the cage, the only way he could give his body a bit of a rest in a way that the chains would allow, and didn’t allow himself to cry. No one would care if he’d die, anyway. No one but himself, and he wouldn’t care anymore either once he was dead.

The next day found him standing in front of the gate that would be pulled up to let him into the arena. He hadn’t been granted clothing, but he did have a sword in his hand. Not that it would be of much use against a lion, likely, but he sure as hell would fight for it.

One of the guards was currently unlocking the chains from his collar. Mick noted that it was one of the kinder guards, who sometimes had a gentle word for them or an extra piece of bread after a particularly grueling fight. Not that it mattered much in the big picture, but it still was nice.

“I’m sorry”, the guard murmured as he handed Mick the sword, and Mick just shrugged a little. He usually pretended he didn’t even understand their language, but this one had figured him out a while ago. And now he nodded at Mick and stepped back, giving the signal to raise the gate so that Mick could step inside and face the lion… face his death.

He made sure not to look back as he stepped outside into the glaring sun, and immediately tuned out all the cheering. The sand of the arena was hot under his naked feet, and the bloody spots he could see scattered around made him feel sick. He had made it a point never to make friends with the other slaves, knowing that each day could be their last and emotional attachment would only hold them all back, but still he found himself wondering which of the familiar faces would not show up for dinner that night. Not that he needed to worry, considering he himself was likely among those.

But he would not go down without a fight, so he turned around, trying to gauge which of the gates the lion would be let out of.

He gripped the sword and took on a fighting stance, knowing that it couldn’t be long now. The iron of the collar was digging into his skin and irritating the chafing, but he tried to blend it out. It wasn’t important now. All that was important was the beast he was going to be faced with, and his attempt at making it out of there alive.

He could hear the sound of a gate opening behind him and swiveled around, sword at the ready. His throat felt dry all of a sudden as he saw the lion prowl into the arena, and his heart sped up. A few steps into the arena, the lion zeroed in on Mick and stopped, turning to face Mick. And Mick felt exactly like what he was: A sitting duck, prey, a piece of meat just waiting for the predator to come and get him.

There was no chance he would be getting out of this.

The lion took a step back, and stood still for a moment. Mick didn’t move.

For a moment, the world stood still, and all that Mick could hear was the wild heartbeat in his ears.

And then, the lion charged.

***

Mick had no idea how he’d done it, but he was back in the basements of the stadium, lying on a cot as he slowly fought his way back to consciousness. His entire side felt like it was on fire, and the side of his face felt like it had been ripped off. Slowly, he blinked his eyes open. His eyes… his eye? Something was clearly off with his vision, and he couldn’t tell what it was.

“You’re awake”, a soft voice to his right murmured, and Mick turned his head, his eyes falling on the medic that was in charge of all the slaves. He was a soft-spoken Greek man, a slave himself, and he always did his best to patch the gladiators back up after a fight. Mick didn’t know if he was grateful for him for providing medical care or if he hated him for prolonging his suffering.

But still, he nodded, and allowed the man to prod his side without growling at him to leave him alone for once.

Absently, he realized he didn’t even know the man’s name. Not that names mattered much here, in a world where people were collared and chained and treated as possessions.

“How are you feeling?” the medic asked him, and Mick just grunted in reply. He was alive, he guessed, but that was about it.

“Yeah, I thought so. You’ve… taken quite a hit. Your side is opened up, and you took a hit to the face. I’m not sure if we can save your eye. And there will be… scarring, for sure.”

Yeah, Mick figured, there would be scarring for sure if one survived an encounter with a hungry lion.

He swallowed whatever vile concoction Medic was trying to get him to drink, and a few moments later he felt himself being pulled back into blissful unconsciousness.

The next time he came to, Medic was gone, but there were two people standing over him, peering at his wounds.

“He’ll be of no use anymore. He’s scarred, and who knows if he’ll even recover.”

“Well, he might be good for one more fight, maybe for a first round”; the second man replied, looking at Mick with what could only be described as morbid fascination.

“People don’t want to see all those scars, they’ll just be put off. And it would take too long for him to heal anyway. Also, he killed my priced lion. I say sell him, maybe someone wants him still.”

***

And that was how Mick found himself on the market, trying to stay upright so all the potential buyers would be able to inspect him. He wasn’t chained to a cage this time, but the slave trader wouldn’t hesitate to use his whip on Mick if he were to keel over, and Mick really didn’t need any more injuries.

His side was still bleeding sluggishly, dirty bandages barely covering it, and his face still felt like it had been ripped in half. He’d caught a glimpse of himself in the wash basin that morning, and he wondered who would ever be interested in a slave that had only half a face and half a scarred mess of lion-claw tracks.

But someone was stepping close to him now, a man with a gentle face but stony eyes, and slowly greying hair. He came to stand in front of Mick and looked him up and down, then placed a hand under his chin to tilt his head up and have a look at his face.

“Mick”, the man murmured and ran a gentle thumb over Mick’s uninjured cheek.

Mick wondered how the man knew his name and why he cared, and yet he found himself leaning into the hand on his cheek, letting himself bask in that gentle touch that was bestowed upon him. The man had tears in his eyes, and Mick absently wondered what would make him cry.

“We’ll take you home, don’t worry”, the man murmured. “Ray will stay with you while I sort it out with the trader.”

Another man stepped up to Mick then, a bit shorter, but no less gentle looking. Mick noted that the man’s – Ray’s – hair was lighter than that of most Romans. He wondered if like Mick, he’d come from elsewhere. Mick couldn’t even remember where he was from, really. It didn’t matter, anyway. He was just a slave now, and his only purpose was to serve his Masters.

“They’ve done quite a number on you, huh? We’ll make sure that you can heal up again, I promise”, Ray murmured, in a low voice so only Mick could hear it. He bowed his head again, and didn’t reply. He hadn’t been asked to speak, after all. Why these people knew him was beyond him, but he wouldn’t complain about being allowed to heal. And maybe, if he was really lucky, they wouldn’t force him back into the arena once he was healed up again.

“Do you remember us, Mick?” Ray asked, and Mick blinked, trying to dispel the dizziness that was threatening to overtake him again. He looked up, eyes flitting up and over Ray’s face before lowering again. A slave was not to look his Master in the eye, after all. He mutely shook his head.

“Well… maybe it will come back yet” Ray told him, and Mick just looked down at his feet, unsure if a reaction was warranted from him.

The first man came back then, with the slave trader in tow, and a short time later Mick found himself pulled to his feet, chains back on his collar and pushed into the hands of two people that somehow knew him, and then he was inside of a carriage together with his new Masters. He knew he would usually not be allowed such a luxury, but he was pathetically grateful that in his state, he was allowed to ride with them and wasn’t forced to walk alongside the carriage.

The horse started to pull, jostling the carriage into moving, and the rough ride over cobblestone made lighting bolts of pain shoot through Mick’s side and face. He felt light headed within moments, and he could see Ray talking to him, but the buzzing in his ears from the pain was too loud for him to hear what Master Ray was saying.

By the time the carriage turned the second corner, Mick slumped, once again falling unconscious from the pain running through him.

The next time he woke up, he found himself not on a cot, but on a bed. It took him a few moments to piece together how he had made his way there, but it all came back to him quite easily. He’d been bought, after his fight with the lion, by two men who apparently deemed him worth enough to put in the effort and expense to give him the medical care he needed. Two men who apparently knew him from somewhere. Mick was pretty sure he hadn’t served them before, but he couldn’t be sure. Maybe they’d also come to bid on how he would be doing in his next fight, he couldn’t tell.

He sat up, surprised by the fact that he actually _could do that_ , and looked around. He seemed to be in a bed chamber, and certainly not one meant to house slaves. It was much too lavish for that, too well-furnished.

Mick noted that he wasn’t chained down, and he also didn’t seem to be chained to the bed at all, in fact. He was still wearing his collar, but there was no chain attached to it that would hold him in place. If he wanted to, he would be able to get off the bed and explore the room, see if the door was locked.

It likely would be.

But then again, it was futile to think about such a thing anyway, considering his side was still screaming in pain. His face mostly felt numb at this point. The pain in his side seemed to have subsided a bit though, considering he now also noted that his arm was hurting as well, and that the gashes on his side weren’t the only ones on his torso. There was also an array of more shallow cuts running diagonally along his chest, joining the ones on his side. Those weren’t bandaged, but the wounds on his side were neatly wrapped with clean cloth, and Mick could smell some herbal poultice that likely had been smeared on while he was unconscious.

He looked up as he heard the door open, and saw the man that wasn’t Master Ray step inside. He bore a wooden bowl and looked at Mick with a soft smile.

“Awake again?” He asked, and Mick nodded mutely, letting his gaze drop down to his lap. He didn’t react as the bed next to him dipped.

“Here, you should have this, it will help build your strength again.” The wooden bowl was gently placed into his hands, and Mick almost groaned at the warmth that flooded his hands, stemming from the soup within the bowl.

“It’s just some light broth, but it might be the right thing to get you started again”, the man told him and also handed him a spoon. “Go ahead, it should be cool enough to eat.”

Taking this as permission to eat, Mick dipped the spoon into the broth with shaky hands, then promptly spilled half the liquid on the spoon as he tried to raise it to his mouth. He closed his eyes, preparing for the inevitable pain of a backhand. Slaves were not to waste food, after all.

Instead, he found the bowl being taken from his hands. Just a moment later the spoon touched his lips again, and Mick’s eyes flew open.

“It’s alright. I’ll feed you”, Mick’s kind Master told him, and Mick couldn’t do anything but obey.

They continued to sit in silence, Master feeding Mick the broth spoonful by spoonful, and Mick just sitting on the bed, shaky hands lying uselessly in his lap.

“Do you know who I am?” Master asked him halfway through the bowl, and Mick chanced a glance at his face again. It looked familiar, very familiar, as if he had known him at some point… but no memory was forthcoming.

Mick shook his head, and was eternally grateful to still receive the next spoonful of the broth.

“My name is Leo”, Master told him, as if that name would mean anything to Mick.

“Do you remember where you come from, Mick?”

Once more, Mick shook his head. He wasn’t from here, he knew that. Sometimes he dreamed weird dreams of a world filled with metal and fire and people he didn’t know, and the freedom to move where he wanted, where he could say what he pleased, but those were just dreams.

“That’s okay. You might not remember, but we knew each other before...before you were enslaved. We’ve been looking for you for a long time, my friend.”

Friend… Mick dared another glance at his Master’s face, then ducked his head again. He didn’t remember having friends. In his mind, a slave was all he was, now. It was his past, his present, his future. It was his reality.

He accepted another spoonful of the broth, then pulled back a little, turning his head away from the spoon. It was a big bowl of soup, and Mick was not used to eating large portions. So he already felt uncomfortably full, and on top of that, sitting up was making his wounds hurt more and more. Or maybe that was a pain-numbing poultice that was wearing off… he wouldn’t know.

Master Leo seemed to realize how Mick was faring, for he gently guided him back down. “There… rest a bit more, your body needs it”, he told Mick. Mick wanted to ask why Master was being so kind to him, but really, it didn’t matter. He would just enjoy it as long as it lasted, and then he would see what was in store for him. Also, slaves were not just allowed to speak up, so there was that.

That night, Mick found out that the bed he was in was apparently the bed that Master Leo and Master Ray shared. He tried to sit up and get out of the bed as they both climbed inside, but a gentle push had him lie back down again, and his Masters came to lie on either side of him.

“Don’t worry, Mick”, Master Leo murmured. “We will not hurt you. Just sleep, get some rest. You’re safe here.”

And even though he didn’t believe him, Mick felt himself drawn back to sleep quicker than before, and he dreamed again of a ship made of metal and of fire and laughter, glass bottles in his hand and friendly faces he couldn’t remember once he woke up.

Somehow, that became his daily routine. For the first days, he never left the bed, feeling too shaky and being too wounded to even make it to the door. Master Leo and Master Ray were almost always by his side, or at least one of them, providing him with food and water and speaking to him in gentle tones with kind words.

Mick still didn’t know how he’d deserved their kindness, but bit by bit, he found himself slowly starting to trust in them. He didn’t feel the need to flinch away anymore when they approached, and he stared to believe that they would come back to him again, that they wouldn’t just suddenly want to deny him his meals or ration his water supply.

A few days in, they started to help him sit up and get off the bed, keeping him upright with their arms wrapped around him, so he could slowly get his strength back so he would be able to walk on his own.

It was agony, but of course, Mick wouldn’t complain. His muscles were cramping and his side would feel like it was being ripped open anew sometimes, but his Masters wanted him to walk, so walk he did.

Master Leo and Master Ray took great care of Mick’s wounds, too. One of them would change his bandages at least once a day, cleaning the skin underneath and applying new poultice as they supervised how he was healing. Mick always wondered how he must look by now. His wounds weren’t open and bleeding anymore, but were slowly scarring over. He must look horrendous, with half his face a scarred mess, one eye too damaged to ever hope to be restored, and scars running down his chest and side again, assuring that he would never get his full range of motion back. And then there were the things he hadn’t even taken notice of at the start, like the fact that his left knee was all torn up inside and was hardly able to support him even for a short time. His right knee was surprisingly still in working order, even though his right side had taken all the slashing. His right arm wasn’t doing all that great, with numerous breaks in his arm and fingers that had been splinted but never would be as good as new again.

And his face… well, he was pretty sure that the only reason that any sip of water he took didn’t run out of his cheek again was the repeated stitching of wounds that Master Leo had subjected him to, for which Mick was terribly grateful. However long his life still might be, it certainly would be better for being able to eat and drink.

Eventually though, moving around got easier again, even if it wasn’t pain-free. Master Ray had brought home a cane at some point and had given it to Mick who used it to get around now, taking some pressure off his shredded knee.

Being able to go to the lavatory on his own certainly was a success he’d never thought he’d have again, but now, he could do it.

His Masters allowed him to roam the house freely, and soon, he was familiar with it. It wasn’t a big house, just enough space for the three of them, really. Sometimes, Mick wondered what his Masters did to earn a living, but he pushed it aside. It wasn’t his place to worry about, after all. There seemed to be no other slaves in the house, nor any other servants.

And somehow, his Masters didn’t treat him like a slave, either. They allowed him to have meals with them, to spend time with them… and they never gave him any commands. Mick wondered what his role was going to be here, or if his Masters only patched up broken slaves and resold them for a much higher price.

At night, he was always sleeping between his two Masters, their arms wrapped securely around them, and every night, he would dream of metal ships and green waves and fire shooting metal barrels. Sometimes, he’d dream of blue explosions and people in metal suits, of someone who looked like Leo but looked at him differently, of bland, dry bread that tasted like friendship.

Mick had no idea if it had been weeks or months when Master Leo took him out into the garden. Mick limped alongside him, and came to stand next to him as Master Leo stopped in the middle of the garden and turned to Mick.

“Do you know who I am?” he asked Mick, and as usual, Mick shrugged. He was Master Leo, he was kind and caring and for some unknown reason, he was helping Mick heal rather than just putting him to work. Master Leo asked him this every week, and Mick couldn’t help but feel that he let him down by not remembering, by not realising what Master Leo wanted him to think of.

“Do you know where you are from?” Master asked, and once more, Mick could only shrug. Really, why would it even matter?

“Okay, then… let’s see if this jogs your memory”, Master warned him and raised his hand.

Before them, something blinked into existence, as if a blanket across it was being pulled away. It was big, it was made of metal…

It was the ship from Mick’s dreams.

A door opened, somewhere in the metal, and it revealed Master Ray standing inside, watching them with a smile.

“You made it. Come on in!” He called and waved at them. He was wearing very different clothes than he usually did, it looked like it even included leather.

Master Leo turned to him with a smile and carefully placed his hand on Mick’s where it was wrapped around his cane.

“Mick. Welcome back to the Waverider.”

The Waverider.

The _Waverider._

_The Waverider._

_Leonard._

_Sara._

_Haircut._

_Cooking breakfast for the team._

_The heatgun._

_His work bench._

_Gideon._

_The med bay._

_The professor and the kid._

_Amaya._

_The Oculus._

Mick stumbled, suddenly feeling faint under the onslaught of memories that were coming up in his mind.

Master Leo’s arms were immediately wrapped around him, holding him up and helping him limp towards the ship.

Leo. Not Leonard. Leo, the one with the kind smile that had never been put off by Mick’s abrasiveness, who had let Mick into his heart even though Ray already resided in there.

And Ray, who had accepted it and had opened his own arms and his own heart to Mick as well, and Mick hadn’t been able to do anything but fall for them.

Gently, carefully, Master Leo guided him up the walkway, and Master Ray waited for them patiently, taking Mick’s other arm as soon as he could reach and helping them inside.

Soon, Mick found himself standing on the once-familiar metal floor of the Waverider. It looked different now, somehow, but that might be the fact that he only had one eye left to look at it.

He allowed himself to be led down the hallways, still feeling dizzy with the memories that were rolling around his brain, so he didn’t pay much attention to the surroundings. The halls were empty for now, and Mick wasn’t sure if that was a good sign or a bad one. Master Leo and Master Ray were talking to him, he could hear that, but he couldn’t process any of it.

He must have been quite out of it, as he suddenly came face to face with a young woman who almost ran into him. She took a step back and rearranged her curls as she looked him up and down.

“Wow. What happened to your face?” she asked, only to be pulled back by another stranger with a put-upon face.

“Zari, dammit!” The second newcomer then put on a smile and stretched out his hand. “Hey. I’m Behrad.”

Mick eyed the hand that was being held out to him, unsure what he was supposed to do with it. Surely, this man did not wish to shake hands with a slave.

“This is Mick”, Leo explained then and gently pushed Behrad’s hand down. “He was never good with touch so save that for later. Mick, these are Zari and Behrad. They’re siblings, they’re Legends… they’re quite okay when you get to know them.”

“Quite okay?!” Zari exclaimed, somehow suddenly resembling a spooked bird.

“Okay, more than quite okay. But now shoo, we’re bringing Mick to the med bay.”

“Yeah, maybe Gidget can take care of those scars”, Zari murmured, only to once again be dragged back by Behrad.

Maybe Gideon would be able to fix his scars indeed, Mick thought, so he wouldn’t need to look so horrible anymore.

“Sorry about that, we’d told them to stay clear of the way to the med bay until we got you there”, Master Ray explained. “We want to get you there first, to see if Gideon can help with your knee and the rest of the healing of your side.”

Mick just nodded, gripped his cane a little tighter, and moved forward. This was the longest he’d ever walked since coming into the care of his Masters, but if they wanted him to keep going to the med bay, he could do that. His Masters were so kind to him, he would do anything for them in return.

A few corners later, there were suddenly footsteps to be heard, and drawing closer.

“Leo! Ray! Did you manage to get him-” Mick looked up at the vaguely familiar voice, and saw a blonde woman standing at the end of the hallway, one hand in front of her mouth and tears in her eyes.

Then, a sobbed “Mick!” escaped her, and she was running.

Before he knew what was happening, She was there, and her arms were wrapped around Mick’s neck, and she was too close, too heavy, she wasn’t safe, she was hurting him, she was stifling him, she- Suddenly, she was on the ground, and Mick on top of her. His injured knee was screaming, and he was pretty sure he had torn out some stitches in his side, but he was holding his cane to her throat while his other hand was wrapped around her neck, ready to start crushing her windpipe.

She looked at him with wide eyes, not moving.

Mick was vaguely aware of his name being called, so he looked up, right into Master Ray’s distressed face.

“Mick… Mick. That’s Sara. She didn’t mean anything by it, okay? Let her go, please, we’ll help you up. Mick? She’s not here to hurt you.”

Sara… Sara!

Mick let go of her immediately, sitting back to release her and immediately doubling over from pain.

“Mick… Mick I’m sorry, I was just… it’s so good to see you”, Sara murmured, and Mick couldn’t think of a single reason why she would say that. He was just a broken, useless slave, after all.

“Here, let’s get you up, darling”, Master Leo murmured, already reaching under Mick’s arms to pull him up again. Mick tried to get his legs under himself again, but couldn’t find a balance. He was swaying, and the room was turning and suddenly the floor was above him and he couldn’t stand on it if the floor was upside down and Master Leo was upside down and -

Mick welcomed the already familiar darkness of unconsciousness when it came, giving his brain a rest from the confusing changes to his life.

When he woke up again, he was alone.

It took him a moment to place the room he was in as the med bay of the Waverider. He raised a hand, trying to reach out for something to touch to confirm that this wasn’t just a dream. In a dream though, his hand would never be that mangled and scarred. He let his hand drop down again without touching anything.

The doors slid open then, and Mick turned his head to see someone enter. Tall, lanky, with messy, dark hair and a smile that looked like the sun was shining out of his face.

Haircut.

“Do you mind if I come in?” Haircut asked, and Mick just continued to look at him. Apparently, Haircut took his silence for acquiescence, as he slowly stepped inside and came over to the chair next to Mick’s cot. He then sat there and looked at Mick, completely silent.

Weird. Haircut was never silent.

***

“ _One of us needs to pose as one of the slaves”, Sara pointed out, eyes already on Haircut. “Ray, you look like you could be a Greek scholar or something, you can do it.”_

“ _We wouldn’t need someone in the main house, just around the kitchen, maybe someone can pose as a delivery boy”, the Englishman tossed in._

“ _Alright, Ray can do that too”, Sara amended, looking at Ray expectantly. Mick could see the panic building in Haircut, but he knew that he wouldn’t refuse, in the end. He’d push himself through his anxiety, and then he’d end up feeling worse for weeks again._

_Mick sighed. Really, there was only one solution. “Haircut’s not gonna lift that much. I’ll do it.”_

_All of the Legends turned to him, and Mick glared right back, especially at Sara. He could play a good little slave for a day and set up a distraction while the others got the mission done. At least he wasn’t some skinny boy scout that wouldn’t be able to lift the bags of flour around._

_Haircut smiled at Mick gratefully, and after a few moments, the Englishman shrugged. “Fine. Have Rory do it, then. Just be aware that if it goes wrong, we can’t come back to collect you again, so you’ll be stuck here for a bit.” Mick shrugged, it wasn’t like he wouldn’t be able to handle himself._

“ _Are you sure, Mick?” Leo asked, his hand a comforting weight on Mick’s shoulder._

“ _Sure. I’ll see you for dinner later”, Mick rumbled, then shared a kiss with Leo and one with Ray before the rest of the team retreated, leaving Mick to sneak his way into the house after he got dressed appropriately._

_Well, this should be an easy mission._

***

“I just… wanted to come see you, I guess”, Haircut murmured. “Say welcome back and thank you.”

Mick looked down at his hands, one of them scarred and burned and littered with cuts from years of hard work and fighting, the other a torn-apart mess that would never move properly again.

He shrugged, and turned back to look at Haircut.

He looked older, somehow.

“How long has it been for you?” Haircut asked. Mick noted that his hands were balled into fists in his lap, as if he needed to keep himself from touching Mick. Mick was more grateful for that than he could say. He stared back at Haircut, taking in the sight of the other man. How long had it been indeed?

“It’s been… we’ve been looking for you for five years, Mick”, Haircut explained, and well, that would explain why he looked older now.

“But Leo and Ray say they were only able to find you later, after more time had passed for you, but they couldn’t tell quite just how much.”

Mick’s gaze found the wall now, gliding over the once-familiar metal paneling. He was sure that more than five years had passed, but really, he wouldn’t be able to tell. Time didn’t matter, after all.

“I just… I wanted to say thank you, for taking my place. I… you saved me at the Oculus, and then in Rome as well, you took all that pain for me. I just… I can’t ever make that up to you, Mick.”

Mick turned back to Haircut, seeing tears in his eyes as well. He hoped that they didn’t come from how disgusting Mick was to look at now.

Very very carefully, he lifted his less disgusting hand and tapped his own forearm, then pointed at Haircut. A moment later, Haircut’s hand came to rest on that spot, touching him through the cloth of the hospital gown he was dressed in.

Mick pulled his lips into something that he thought must be a smile, and in return, the sun shone out of Haircut’s face again as he smiled.

“You never used to be this silent.” Haircut sounded concerned, and Mick just reached up, running his hand around the metal of the collar that was still locked around his neck.

“Yeah, I can imagine there isn’t much to say in a life like you’ve been forced to lead”, he amended, and then shrugged. “But hey, talking isn’t everything.”

***

A few days later, Mick was standing in his old work room, inspecting the things on the desk, his tools, his typewriter. The heat gun was also there, placed carefully in a case. Ray was sitting on his work bench, watching him. He didn’t say anything, just was there with him, a calming presence at his side. Either Leo or Ray seemed to always be with him, and Mick couldn’t say that he minded it. He was always grateful to have a bit of a buffer between him and the other Legends. By now he’d met them all again, Zari and Behrad, Sara and Ava, Charlie, Constantine, Astra. Nora and Haircut, and Nate. He was fine with Haircut, and Haircut seemed to have a great grasp of what was okay for Mick and what wasn’t. Sometimes, they’d even spend some time together, without Ray or Leo there.

Sara had come to apologize to him for her hugging attack, and she’d been a lot calmer, and more aware of what was going on, and by now, Mick felt alright around her as well. He was uneasy around Ava, who seemed to be feeling just as weird around him in return. He’d met Charlie, Constantine and Ava, and had then promptly decided to avoid them as much as possible. Nate had offered him a bottle of beer, and he’d gladly taken it, only to bring it all back up later in the night.

Besides Haircut, it was weirdly enough Behrad that seemed to sense Mick’s need for quiet and slow reacquaintance with the world the best. A few times, he’d knocked on the door to Mick’s room, and after Mick had waved him in he’d just sat on the workbench, looking at him.

“Do you mind if I just talk?” Mick always shook his head and gestured at him to go ahead, and that’s how he learned about a lot of the things the Legends had been up to while he had been gone. He also learned that Leo and Ray kept in touch with the Legends, but weren’t full team members anymore. Mick wasn’t sure if he was sad or relieved that they’d left after they’d been a falling-out about the intensity with which they would search for Mick. Apparently they’d only reconnected with the Legends after they’d discovered where and when Mick was, and then they’d taken the Jumpship to come to him, only to discover that Mick was too weak to make it to the Waverider, and to deal with the shock to his system that coming back would mean. Mick was eternally grateful that they’d taken the time to allow him to heal up first, to get used to the kindness they treated him with.

A couple of times, Behrad was joined by Haircut after a while, and they would tell stories together while Mick listened to them as he cleaned his tools and disassembled and reassembled his heat gun, trying to get a feeling for this life again… trying to get a feeling for who he was, as a person, again.

At night, he would always end up in Leo and Ray’s room, tucked in between them with their arms around him, shielding him from the world. He always felt safe there, snuggled in between his Masters, knowing that they were kind to him, that they treasured him and would protect him from all that came to haunt him.

He frequently woke up during the night from nightmares, memories morphed into monsters to haunt him. In his dreams, he would be back in chains, back in a cage, and people would come to gawk at him, to touch him, to satisfy their blood lust by watching him suffer, watching him kill and be killed. Mostly his Masters were faceless, but sometimes he would dream of Leonard coming to watch him, standing in front of his cage like he’d stood in front of the glass cell at the Waverider, staring at him with those empty eyes.

Whenever he woke up from a nightmare, shaking and sweating, Leo and Ray would be there, whispering reassurances and holding him, wiping away his sweat and holding his hands until the shaking subsided.

They were the best, really.

Sometimes Mick wanted to thank them, wanted to repay them for their kindness by giving them the only thing he had to give. Himself. But whenever he reached for his pyjamas, starting to push his pants down with clear intent, they stopped him with gentle hands and kind words. Told him that this was never a requirement, that being together with him like that should come from a place of happiness, and never distress or the feeling of duty. They would coax his clothes back on and pull him back into their embrace, even placing kisses all over his scarred, horrifying face. Every time, they would then speak to him about nothing of importance, until eventually, sleep took him once more, and he would sleep for the rest of the night, safely wrapped into their arms, where he belonged.

In the mornings, when he was feeling better, he would sometimes lean in after they’d given him good morning kisses on the cheek, and they would allow him to kiss them in return. Mick was eternally grateful for that.

But every once in a while, Mick found himself wondering. They hadn’t told him about the Legends that weren’t around anymore, and Mick hadn’t found a way of asking yet. He did eventually end up passing by Haircut’s room one day while the door was open, and he spotted pictures on a shelf. Nora was inside, so he hesitated, but she waved him in easily enough. They didn’t speak much, but like Haircut, Nora seemed to grasp the concept of him needing some space and quiet. They were a good match, really. Giving her a little smile – that he knew from a look in the mirror looked more like a grimace than anything else – he stepped inside and walked over to the shelf where the pictures were displayed neatly next to each other, all of them framed and dust-free.

And there they were… Leonard with Sara, Mick and Leonard, the Professor and the kid with silly party hats on, Amaya and Nate, a group picture with the Englishman from when they first started out, Mick with Haircut. Mick even remembered that picture being taken, how Haircut had prodded him for days until he’d agreed to take a selfie with him and even smile. There were more pictures there, of the people that were around now, even of the bird people, of Leo and Ray, of the STAR Labs nerds.

There was a gentle knock on the door, and then a soft “Ray here. Ray Palmer.” Mick turned around to nod at him, grateful that Haircut had picked up on how easily he was startled these days.

“What do you have there?” Haircut asked him, stepping up beside him and looking at the pictures as well. “Ah yes, the old members… Did anyone tell you yet what happened to them?”

Mick shook his head, then pointed at the bird people and – after a moment of hesitation – at Leonard. He’d seen the bird people leave, after all, had watched his husband die. Haircut nodded and gestured at the armchair while he himself sat down on the bed. Nora, who was also stretched out on the bed and was engrossed in her book, gave them both an absent-minded smile.

“So… not all of these end well, really”, Haircut warned him before launching into the stories, telling him how Amaya went back to protect her people, how Jax decided that his time with the Legends was over. He told him how the Englishman had died, and Mick felt something in him clench. He’d never seen eye to eye with Rip Hunter, but hearing that he was gone still did not feel right. That man had given him a new life outside of robbing banks, after all. He’d also abandoned him all too easily after things had gone south in Rome, though. But then again, the Englishman had never thought highly of Mick, so maybe he’d just been glad to be rid of him.

When Mick heard about the Professor, though, he felt himself choke up, and he had to turn his head away to conceal the tears that were pooling in his eye. There was a weird burning in the spot where his right eye had been, but he could only feel a tear running down his left cheek. He thought of the man, brilliant and genius with a giant stick up his ass, his nose in the clouds but a heart made of gold. Thought of how he’d pushed him to perform surgery on him with Gideon’s assistance, how they’d never had much to talk about, but had quietly cooked breakfast for the other just the way they’d liked it. Mick had put together stupid small bowls of yoghurt with granola and some citrus fruit on the side that he’d never touch himself, and sometimes the professor had proudly presented Mick with a big fry-up before loudly announcing that he’d never eat something as artery-clogging as this and walking away.

And to hear that that wonderful old man had passed, that he’d been shot by Nazis and hadn’t even be allowed to pass peacefully with his family around him…

Mick missed him, suddenly, more than he could say. A hand appeared in his field of view, a silent offering, and he grabbed it, holding on to it and trying to anchor himself, ground himself in what he still had, in all the things he’d regained, not the things he’d lost.

***

Mick was sitting on their bed, reclined against the pillows so he could give his knee some rest, reading his way through Nora’s most recent recommendation, when there was a knock on the open door.

“Sara here. Can I come in?”

Mick looked up at her and nodded, then took his time to place a bookmark between the pages before he closed it. He never used to use bookmarks, but Haircut had given him this, a tassled monstrosity that felt amazingly smooth and calming when gliding over his scarred skin.

He put the book aside and turned towards Sara, but didn’t sit up. His knee was giving him hell today, and even after several attempts, Gideon had not been able to fix all the torn ligaments and whatnot, just like she had been able to speed up the rest of the healing of his wounds, but couldn’t restore his eye or take away the massive scarring.

“I just wanted to ask you a question, if that’s alright”, Sara started, and took a seat at the little table. Ever since that tackle-hug when he first came on the Waverider, Sara had been very pointedly keeping her distance. Whether that was for his sake or for hers, Mick couldn’t tell.

“I’ve just been thinking… we tried while you were passed out when you first came here into the med bay, but we couldn’t manage to take your collar off then. We were just wondering, maybe you’d like us to try again?”

Mick frowned, his hand automatically going up to the item in question. The metal was smooth, cool to the touch, and at some point the two hooks to hold the chains had been filed off, still back in Rome, since Mick kept getting them tangled in his clothes. Now it was just one smooth circle of metal around his neck, sitting heavily on his shoulders.

Somewhere in his mind, Mick knew that he should have been ecstatic at Sara’s suggestion, that he should have jumped up and dragged her to whoever had figured out a way to saw the collar off him, considering it had been sealed permanently around his neck.

But instead, he just kept on running his hand along it, feeling the cold touch of the metal, scarred fingers catching slightly on the four deep ridges the lion had left in it. Somehow, along the way, the metal around his neck had turned from a hated sign of opression to a thing of comfort. This collar was unlike any other. It had no way for a chain to attach, leaving him free to go where he wished, even while wearing it. It was gouged by the lion, telling the story of what he’d been through. It had protected his neck from taking any damage in that fight, and thus probably saving his life. Every time they helped him shower, Ray and Leo took such great care of it, gently washing underneath it and making sure there was no chafing. They’d even gotten Gideon to file the edges of the collar round and smooth, so there was no risk of Mick hurting himself.

By now, what the collar represented to him was how he belonged to Ray and Leo. Not in the literal sense, he was aware of that by now, even if he still slipped back into his mindset of a slave from time to time. But he was a free man, who they choose to be with, who they choose to take care of, and somehow, in Mick’s mind, the collar had come to represent that. They’d taken him in, had taken off his chains but had kept the symbol that showed that he was owned… that he _belonged_. He was protected, taken care of. He was loved, he knew that. He couldn’t understand why, didn’t know why they’d searched for him for so long, how they still wanted him now, a scarred, mute mess with PTSD to the moon and back. But even through his broken, messed up mind he could see the love they treated him with, how happy they were to have him around. And he might not understand it, but he wasn’t about to reject it, either. After all, he loved them as well, adored them more than he could possibly say.

It had been Behrad that had given him a book on trauma recovery, and on healing the mind as well as the body after such events. Mick had pretended to scoff at it, but in the end, he’d read it back to back, taking in every word. After thinking about it afterwards, he’d come to the conclusion that the devotion he felt for Leo and Ray was not the healthiest of things, as it had a lot to do with worshiping them for coming to save him, and still sometimes viewing them as his Masters, as the only ones he would live for. But still, his love for them was real, and he hoped that in time, they might grow back to what they had been before Rome. Maybe one day, he would be able to tell them in so many words what they meant to him. Maybe one day, they wouldn’t need to take care of him as much anymore. But Mick also knew that that day was still far away, and that he still had a lot of healing to go.

He realised his thoughts had been drifting away, and he turned back to Sara with a grimace-smile and shook his head. Sara frowned at that, and Mick shrugged a bit helplessly, trying to think of a way to explain it to her. In the end, he held up a hand and gestured to his ring finger with the other.

“You’re married… No. You want to marry… no. You… belong with them?” At Sara’s third guess, Mick nodded, where he’d only shook his head before.

“And that collar… symbolises that for you?” Once more, Mick nodded. He then placed both of his hands on his chest, over his heart, and then for good measure drew a heart shape on his chest with his fingers as well.

“I see… I’m glad you three are happy, Mick. And you are, I can see it. And all of us are so glad to have you back, really. And if you want to keep that collar… well, that’s your decision.”

 _That’s your decision._ Mick was sure that Sara had no idea what that sentence meant to him, after he’d spent so long as a slave, denied his freedom, denied his free will, denied his dreams, denied his humanity.

Once more, he drew a heart on his chest, then pointed at Sara.

“Yeah… Love ya too, Rory”, she grinned, and tactfully didn’t mention the tears in Mick’s eye.

That evening, sitting on the couch between Leo and Haircut and with the rest of the Legends strewn around them, watching a movie that all of them insisted Mick had to see since he hadn’t been around when it came out a few years ago, Mick realised how truly lucky he was. Not only had he gotten back his freedom, gotten back a life worth living, but he’d found a family here again, a family that took him in and loved him just like he was, and who supported him on the long, gravelly road of recovery that he was on. He adored and loved Leo and Ray and he was sure that they were the best boyfriends in the world, but it was the support of the rest from the rag-tag family that suddenly made him very sure that no matter how long this would take, in the end, things would be okay.

He would be okay again, and life would be good and worth living.


End file.
